My Fair Lady
by SpellCleaver
Summary: "Feyre Archeron," a voice mused. "I almost didn't recognise you." "I would've thought that would be the entire point of a disguise, Rhysand." / Azriel was adamant that he still had spies on the inside. Rhys never thought to ask who. / "The rightful queen of Prythian lived in a derelict block of flats, near to a rubbish dump." Short Story. All Human. Fantasy-ish AU.
1. Are My Emotions Never Valid?

**_Feyre_**

"Feyre Archeron," a voice mused. "I almost didn't recognise you."

I tensed instantly, and the heavy cloak around my shoulders bunched up uncomfortably. For a split second I thought it was Lucien, that Tamlin had sent him to hunt me down again and drag me kicking and screaming back to the manor, but no. I knew this voice. Even if I hadn't heard it in over a year.

I'd thought that I could cut through Velaris easily enough, without being waylaid by any old friends. Apparently I was wrong.

"I would've thought that would be the entire point of a disguise, Rhysand." I kept my voice pointedly neutral, and turned to face my old friend. The village square was nearly deserted at this late hour, and we were the only ones in sight: him in a fine but practical black tunic leaning against the doorway to his inn, me dressed as a poor traveller with Alis's old cloak thrown over me.

His violet eyes crinkled. I'd always been able to read him before, but right now he was a mystery. "Oh no, it wasn't the disguise that made it difficult, I assure you." Only the year I'd spent at court let me keep my face straight. "After all, I've seen you in rags for most of our lives." There was a pause, and then his voice was so cutting I almost flinched as he said, "It's your posture. I don't know how it's possible to walk with your nose in the air with your head down at the same time, but you seem to have managed it."

I couldn't argue with that. I'd fallen into the habit of standing in the way that attracted the least attention at Tamlin's court - exactly the way my betrothed wanted me to.

"What do you want, Rhysand." I meant to make it sharp, cutting, the way it had been when they were children, but I was cold and hungry and tired.

He lifted a hand to his chest in mock offence, but there was real distaste in his voice. "Rhysand? I don't see you for seventeen months and you start calling me Rhysand?" I gave him a look, but he was already turning away. "I just wanted to say hello to an old friend. If that's it then I'll just go."

He'd gone to reenter the inn when a particularly strong wind gushed from the north and seized my cloak with vengeance, tossing it into the sky and carrying it farther and farther away with every passing moment. I shivered violently, and Rhys paused on the threshold, but I kept walking and didn't look back.

"Feyre!" He called after me. "You'll freeze to death!" I wondered if I was imagining the panic in his voice.

He was right. I knew he was right and yet... Nesta. Elain. Nesta. Elain. _F_ _reedom_.

I kept walking.

A door slammed shut, then there were running footsteps, and two warm hands were gripping my shoulders. I froze, ramrod straight, images flashing through my mind-

The hands released me immediately.

"Feyre," he was saying now. "Come inside. Stay the night. Please, Fey. You'll die out here."

I stopped for a moment, and sensing his chance, he barrelled on.

"Just one night, just stay the night, and you can be on your way in the morning good as new with some fresh food in your stomach. Hell, I'll even throw in a new cloak if you want." He tried to get me to laugh, but laughter was a frozen thing in my throat. "This storm will only get worse, and it's no time to be out on the road in the middle of the night. Especially in as feeble clothes as you have."

I didn't agree so much as give up. He placed a hand on the small of me back and led me inside.

This late on a cold October night there was no one in the bar area. We walked through into the small living quarters he had at the back of the building, and pointed me towards the toilets. "You get undressed while I run you a hot bath. You'll catch hypothermia if you're in those wet clothes any longer."

I didn't have the strength in me to argue, so I dutifully did so. Neither of us batted an eyelid when I walked into the bathroom whilst he was still in there, stark naked, and climbed into the bath; we'd bathed in streams near the village when we were children, and as we'd grown up there was not a part of each other we weren't intimately familiar with. So I simply sank into the bath's warm embrace, and trusted him to respect me enough to look at my face, and not the rest of my body.

He coughed. "I dug up some clothes you left over here from- from before. They're just here." He patted a bundle of fabric next to him."

"I can't pay for any of this," I said. The words tumbled out of me in a rush, and I turned pink. "I- I don't have any money with me."

Rhys's tone had hard, brittle edge to it again as he said, "Your fiancé hasn't given you any?"

I cringed at the mention of Tamlin. Rhys hated the man - and rightly so, considering how he'd stood and laughed as his father had wrongly accused Rhysand's father of stealing from the crown treasury, and getting him stripped of his lordship and executed. Queen Amarantha had known that it wasn't true, but the Lord Monstern had been starting to oppose and challenge her policies for the country of Prythian, and she'd leaped at the chance to get him kicked out of office, and have Tamlin's family - her good friends - installed as replacement. She'd executed his wife and daughter for good measure, and Rhys had only survived because he'd been away visiting his cousin at the time.

My friend should've owned this entire region. Instead, he owned a rundown building.

"My fiancė," I said slowly; the words tasted bitter in my mouth, "doesn't know I'm here. Doesn't know I'm out of the manor, even. Hopefully."

Rhys went very still. I sat up in the bath to look at him. "Why didn't you tell him where you were?"

A humourless laugh. "Because I asked to leave, and he said no. Said I was too fragile to risk on the early winter roads. I asked a second time, and he said no. Then he locked me in my room."

Rhys's eyes were riveted to mine. His knuckles were white.

"I had several bedsheets, curtain pulls, and dresses in this room." My voice was brutally flat. "I did not bother asking a third time."

"What was it that had you risking your entire engagement on an excursion that could get you killed?"

I scoffed. "Think about it, Rhys. Who are the two people in the world I would do anything for?" Understanding blossomed on his face, and i nodded. "Nesta and Elain. I received a letter a few days ago asking if I could visit. Tamlin refused to consent for me to go, so I went with or without his permission."

"They don't deserve you, Feyre," Rhys said, his voice low and hard. It was only then that I recalled just how passionately he'd hated my sisters on my behalf. "None of them do."

I ignored the last comment. "I know," I said softly. "But they're my last remaining family."

He broke our stare at that. His jaw flexed as, not looking me in the eye, he said, "I'm sorry - about your father."

Blood and screams and wide brown eyes begging _Please Feyre Feyre please don't let him kill me I don't want to die_ -

I said stiffly, "It's not your fault. You don't need to apologise." A pause. "You didn't even like the man." He'd been courteous with him, of course, but never kind or loving. Especially after the man had sold me off to be engaged to the son of the lord he knew I hated.

"Nevertheless," he said, standing. "I'm sorry for the pain it's caused you."

He went to leave, but I extended a hand. "Stay?" I asked. "Please. Just - keep me talking, Rhys, so I don't fall asleep and drown in the bath."

He hesitated, and looked at me sceptically, but a smile graced his face once he relaxed. "Of course, Fey." Easily - he'd shifted into calling me by my childhood nickname so easily.

"Tell me about the inn," I said. "How've you been getting along? How's Mor? Cassian?"

"Mor's fine," Rhys replied. "Pissed off that you haven't been able to write to her for fourteen months, but fine. She's been enjoying being the new stewardess of the Hewn City, since Keir died. Cassian's good too; we've been recently talking to-" He cut himself off, like he'd just remembered he wasn't supposed to say that for whatever reason. The distance between us ached, but I tried to ignore the wound.

"So, the inn. . ." He kept talking, and I kept listening, but my mind was still running rampant.

Truth be told, I still hated my father for selling me to Tamlin like so much chattel. When our family fortune had dwindled, I'd taught myself to hunt to keep us alive, and had sold much of the meat we didn't eat to Mercy, who ran the butchers shop in the village and had always paid me handsomely for the produce. A large woman, she'd been harsh and blunt, but knew animals better than anyone, and she in part had been the one to show me how to cut up and prepare the meat to for consumption.

But one day the Lord had been one of his tours round the villages, when he and his hunting party had come upon me in the middle of shooting a deer. Apparently I'd been good enough to take notice of, because he'd offered me a place amongst his archers. I'd been wary, considering Rhys had recently told me why, exactly, he now lived in Velaris, but I couldn't afford to offend the Lord; not when he was so notorious for his cruelty. So I accepted the job, and whilst I still lived at home, I had to take the four hour carriage trip to the manor every morning, and get home late at night. It was a well paid job, which was just as well, since I certainly didn't have the time to hunt anymore. On my days off, I either slept, or visited Rhys.

The manor was a male dominated place, save for the priestess Ianthe. I was the only woman amongst the archers, and probably the entire weapons sector. That was probably why Tamlin took such an interest in me, and tried to strike up a conversation every time he saw me. I was always polite, if a bit distant, but for some reason that just fascinated him further.

It wasn't long before he requested my hand in marriage. My father, going starry eyed at the sum of money Tamlin offered in return, handed me over without a second thought. I'd had no choice in the matter.

I'd only made my discomfort clear once in the seventeen months since I'd been sold. Three months in, I'd thrown a fit anyone would be proud of. They'd tried to placate me with dresses and jewellery and pretty words, but none of it worked. Until they'd killed my father in front of me, and threatened to do the same to my sisters if I didn't cooperate.

Since then, I'd cooperated. I hadn't been allowed contact with anyone outside the manor but my sisters ever since.

I shivered, though the bath water was still warm.

"Are you alright, Fey?" Rhys asked.

I thought about it.

"No."

 **.~*~.~*~.~*~.**

The next morning, I rose with the sun, dressed in the clothes I'd worn the day before, now dry, and took the cloak Rhys had laid out with me last night. I'd left him a note, and was gone long before he woke up.

 **.~*~.~*~.~*~.**

Nesta and Elain were more than welcoming, and spat on Tamlin's name when I told them what had happened. I half-expected Nesta to chastise me for risking such a fortuitous engagement on such a trivial matter - Cauldron knew they'd been enjoying the benefits of it, and would be loathe to give them up - but she was not my father. As much as we'd quarrelled in the years previous, she did not think her luxury was worth the price of my freedom.

I loved her for that.

I had a wonderful day with them, but it was over too soon.

"You could stay, Feyre," Elain offered tentatively, as the sun rolled beyond the horizon and the sky was that familiar shade of violet that never failed to give me heartache. If that part of me still functioned, that's the time of day Id love to paint the most.

"I want to." I said in reply, even as I picked up my shawl again and mentally steeled myself for leaving. "But I can't."

"Why not?" It was Nesta this time, and her voice was hard, in the way I needed it to be hard, because any more softness and I would shatter.

 _Because if I leave, Tamlin will kill you two as well,_ was what I didn't say, but the tear glinting on Elain's face told me she heard the words anyway, loud and clear.

I wasn't finished.

 _Because it's just a few more months, and justice needs to be done._

 _Because Azriel needs me to keep uncovering information._

 _Because soon enough, I'll be able to leave for a life where I_ don't _have to glance over my shoulder every other second, waiting for Tamlin to come and drag me back._

I opened my mouth to voice the hope - to _talk_ about the promise I'd been nurturing for _fourteen months now_ -

But there was a pounding on the door. Elain stifled a squeak, and a hand flew to her face. Nesta pressed her lips into a thin line, and went rigid.

It was left to me to open the door, and greet the familiar redheaded man on the other side. "Lucien." I glanced past him, at the two sentries he'd brought. "Bron. Hart." I smiled weakly.

Lucien reached for my arm, and fastened a clamp-like grip around my elbow. I noticed the other was on his sword as I shook off his hand. "No need for that." I lifted the shawl Rhysand had lent me and draped it over my shoulders. "I was just leaving anyway."

Lucien's heterochromatic eyes narrowed at the sight of the rag, the gold iris glinting slightly. He wordlessly shook his head, and released a pained sigh.

I sympathised with him. I really did. I'd known him when I was just Feyre the Huntress, the only women in the High Lord's squad of archers. We'd been friends. But I knew he saw how unhappy recent circumstances had made me, and I didn't have it in me to forgive the fact that he'd done nothing but perpetuate them.

He jerked his chin at the shawl, and shook his head. Bron reached forwards to take it from me, and he shovelled it none too gently into the pack slung over his shoulder, whilst Lucien re-established his grip on my elbow, and steered me out of the front garden and round the side of my sisters' pleasant cottage, to where four saddled horses were tied to the fence. One of them was the dappled grey mare, Vassa, who'd been gifted to me by Tamlin as an "early wedding present". Hart approached her, and gently opened the saddlebag to out a luxurious rose silk cloak, with mother-of-pearl buttons and a white fur lining.

My shoulders stiffened. I recognised that cloak - knew it was the last outfit Tamlin had seen me in before he'd locked me in my chambers and left to go hunting. I'd purposefully left it there, perfectly folded, lying in the middle of the floor, to show that yes, I left of my own accord. A mocking farewell.

It was all part of this political power game I'd learned to play so well in my months at the manor. And now the move had been turned on me.

Lucien handed the cloak to me and explained, in such a blunt tone I wondered if he was being sarcastic, or if he actually believed what he was saying, "More fitting for a lady. And it'll keep you warmer than that rag in this weather."

 _Wrong_.

I, a lowly peasant raised into this position by some cruel twist of fate, knew the truth. That cloak was freezing, and was no more a barrier against the old than it was an innocent gesture on his part.

A part of me was surprised Tamlin hadn't come himself; he was certainly possessive enough. But the rest of me knew the truth: he would see it as belittling himself to have to tell his future wife how to behave.

Fucking bastard.

I couldn't deny, however, that the cloak was more fitting for a lady. But firstly, I was not yet a lady, and wouldn't be at all if everything went according to plan. Secondly, I'd rather look like a peasant - _look like I am_ \- than look like some preening, pretentious woman with a stick up her arse. And thirdly, if I knew this parts well - and I certainly did - then I knew looking like a lady wouldn't do anything. Except maybe set you up as the victim of a passing highwayman.

But I'd learned fourteen months ago that it was wiser to hold my tongue. Especially when there was so much to lose.

So I donned the cloak, climbed up onto Vassa's back without protest, and didn't even try to bolt whilst I was up there. When I turned round to look one last time, my sisters were at the cottage window, faces as grave as if I was riding to my funeral.

 **.~*~.~*~.~*~.**

On the way back, we rode through Velaris.

I didn't know if it was because Lucien wasn't stupid, and knew just as well as I the dangers of travelling in such fine clothes on the highway, or if he wanted to torture me in some obscure method.

By the little smile he tossed me when we took the turn onto the road that led through my village, I was betting on the latter. My stomach plummeted.

I'd forgotten that whilst we were archers together, I'd told him where I lived, and why (besides the obvious reasons) I didn't bunk with the rest of them

 _You and Tamlin can play your games_ , his smile said. _And I can play mine._ The smile turned a little sad. _We used to be friends, remember?_

Although it was nine o'clock at night, there were still the odd few people milling about in the streets. My friends - my family. The people I'd grown up with.

They all grew silent as we passed. I could feel their gazes crawling all over me, taking in the fine clothes, the change in posture, the way I refused to meet their eyes. And I knew they saw much more than Tamlin did.

My eyes were firmly fixed to the pommel of my saddle as we rode past Rhys's inn. I wondered if Lucien knew what it meant - knew who it was behind those doors. The son of the High Lord _his_ High lord had usurped. Somehow, I doubted it.

I don't know if Rhys saw us - saw _me_ \- as we rode past. I refused to look up until we were miles past. I don't know if he looked up, caught a glimpse of me through the windows, and paused whatever he was doing.

I don't even know if he would've cared.

 **.~*~.~*~.~*~.**

I slept in the saddle, and it was around two in the morning by the time we rode through the imposing iron gates of the manor. I glanced up, as I always did, and imagined the symbol that had adorned them before Tamlin's family had claimed the lands. Rhys's family crest: a mountain crowned with three stars.

Thankfully (and naturally), Tamlin was asleep at this time, and would not be woken under any circumstances, so I was sent to bed immediately, like a misbehaving child. I found my two maids - Suriel and Alis - waiting for me in the bedroom of my chambers. Upset, angry, and so, so tired, I did the only thing possible to do.

I cried.

Alis cooed softly, stroking my back and letting me hug her like she was the mother I'd lost so long ago. Being twice mine and Suriel's age, she often felt like it - felt like a protective mother figure, there to advise me when the intricacies of court life overwhelmed me. Suriel twittered in the background as always; a bony girl with dark hair and exquisite fashion sense, she always had the latest gossip amongst the serving girls. Oftentimes, it was useless chatter that I ignored, but in other cases, it had been absolutely invaluable.

"I'm sorry I lost your cloak," I said into Alis's shoulder. She tutted.

"It's alright. Things happen. I hope you saw your sisters, well and intact. I also hope you enjoyed your brief taste of freedom, Feyre, because Tamlin's beside himself with rage." She brushed a hair behind my ear, the touch light and loving. "Tread carefully tomorrow. I don't want to see you get hurt."

Suriel said, "He was. Although, it was more annoyed at Lucien for letting you escape than you yourself for escaping. Because Tamlin's always logical like that." I giggled wetly through my tears. "He's in that mood where he just needs to rant. Let him talk, don't interrupt, say what he wants you to say, and you'll be fine."

I nodded. It seemed like those words were my mantra now: _Say what he wants you to say, and you'll be fine._ But Suriel - brave, beautiful Suri, and Alis, who was so loving, that they'd bother to help me like this-

I started crying again. And Suri knew, in the way she always did, to hold out her hand so I could clutch it like it was an anchor in a spiralling world.

 **.~*~.~*~.~*~.**

The next morning, I'd barely gotten dressed when Tamlin came barging in the door.

"Are you alright!?"

 _What sort of prick fakes concern after he locks someone in a room?_

"I'm fine. I wasn't hurt."

He ran his hands through his hair. "Are you sure? You walked _miles_ , Feyre, in the freezing cold, in the snow. You were away for days, and I thought-" He cut himself off, breathing heavily.

 _You thought you'd lost me, your pretty little trophy wife. You thought someone would take your prized possession and shatter it, until it -until_ I _\- was no longer the image of a perfect, submissive lady_.

"I'm well aware what you must have thought." It was meant to be soft, but it came out hard and cold. The way Nesta would say it, with steel in her heart and ice in her voice.

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Don't you take that tone with me. I had every right to worry, after you ran away like a _child_ and for all I knew you were _dead_ -"

 _Say what he wants you to say. Say what he wants you to say. Say what he wants you to say._

A beat.

 _Screw that._

"You thought I was _dead_? I'm a fucking huntress, I'll have you remember; I think I can handle myself and survive on my own."

Suri was probably cringing to herself, wherever she was. Or at least, she would be when she found out. _Have you no sense of self-preservation, Feyre?_

"Mind your language, Feyre." His tone was flat and sharp; the tone his father used; the tone of the High Lord. "It doesn't befit a lady to swear."

"That's because _I'm not a fucking lady_! How long will it take you to notice?"

He sighed, and now he just looked tired. Annoyed. "Really, Feyre, I thought we'd gotten over this nonsense." A pause as I drew breath for speech, then, "One would almost think you didn't want to marry me." I didn't know if the pain in his voice was real of feigned. Probably real. He was delusional enough that he'd think I'd actually fallen in love with him.

But that was when it hit me.

What was I doing? I was playing a vital role in Azriel's movement, and I had almost jeopardised _everything_. Who would obtain their precious information, were it not for me? After all that nobility and martyrdom I'd affected at my sisters', how could I stand here and risk this engagement falling apart?

Just a few more months.

A few more months, then I was free.

"Of _course_ I want to marry you." I made my tone very, very soft. And apologetic. "I'm- sorry." I said, rubbing my arm. "It's just-" I dropped my arms to the sides. "I don't know what came over me." he words were ashes in my mouth.

Tamlin sighed with relief. He closed the distance between us, and I let my eyes flutter shut as he kissed my forehead. "It's alright. I know- I know you can go through emotional phases sometimes, and I'm sorry I'm never here to help you when you do. I see now that locking you in the rooms was a drastic action, and it was wrong. I'm sorry."

"No, _I'm_ sorry." I insisted, the words bitter on my tongue. _You just love to blame every piece of passion and righteousness on "emotional phases", don't you? Are my reactions - my_ emotions _\- never valid to you?_

I knew the answer to that. And even as I let him hold me like he would never let go, I let the knowledge fan the flames of my anger, until it was an inferno.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a certain rose pink cloak. I closed my head, and pretended to burrow my head into Tamlin's chest. That cloak would burn first.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! This was fun to write, but I think it'll just be a few chapters long. I'm sorry about the writing, I know it doesn't flow properly and I don't know what I'm doing wrong.**


	2. Are You Looking For Someone?

**Thanks to Fire Breathing Queen, Magdalena, Roza Chameleon Redbird and Amren Manon SP for reviewing!**

 **Magdalena: Yeah, they're all humans in this story. Sorry I forgot to state that before.**

 **Fire Breathing Queen: This isn't really a backstory chapter, but essentially the rundown of the backstory is this: Rhys's father used to be the lord of the manor before Tamlin's father got him kicked out of office, and Rhys's family were executed because of it. Because of that Rhys moved to Feyre's village - Velaris - as a child, and they became friends. Feyre eventually came to work as an archer for Tamlin's father, where she got Tamlin's attention and he asked to marry her. Her father sold her in marriage to him, and when she proved too rebellious, Tamlin killed her father in front of her to threaten her into submission. Sorry if it's still confusing. :/**

 **Sorry, this chapter feels just as choppy as the last one, but I can't work out how to fix it. I think it's a problem with the writing style.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the ACOTAR characters.**

* * *

 _ **Rhysand**_

For the fifth time in as many minutes, my eyes strayed towards the note, folded neatly, sitting on the counter.

Emblazoned across the top was the name _Rhysand Monstern_ , in a script that was somehow both familiar and not. Gone were the harsh corners and bows I remembered her to have; instead, her loops were neat and refined, like a scarlet ribbon, more elegant than legible.

 _Thank you for your hospitality_ , it read, _and I'm sorry I had to leave before you woke up. But I don't want to bring anymore trouble to your door. So if we never see each other again, I wish you all the best ~ Feyre._

I'd been the one to teach her to write. I remembered the day I'd found out her father and sister's hadn't bothered to teach her, and yet relied on her as their main breadwinner nonetheless. I hadn't expected to feel so much anger at the fact - I'd met her sisters before and found them to be absolutely _charming_ , so I knew they weren't the nicest people - and I'd had difficulty controlling it. But I'd squashed it down and politely offered to show her how.

It had taken her three weeks to warm up to me enough to accept (she'd thought I was some sort of demon when I initially moved here, saying that my outstandingly good looks were "inhuman") and even then, she'd snapped and snarled at me every time we sat down together. I'd always suspected she only ever agreed to it because of a significant amount of cajoling from Mercy. I'd never cared enough to knew the details; so long as a bunch of sycophants weren't making her feel worthless, I was happy.

I wasn't entirely in control of my hand as it abandoned the reports and sheets of statistics it was sifting through to pick the note up and read it again.

 _I wish you all the best_.

What about you, Feyre? You're the one who deserves the best. And look what you've got.

I'd have been offended at the fact that other than a few sporadic letters at the beginning of her engagement (or, as Mor called it, imprisonment) were it not for Nesta Archeron. She and Cassian had grown oddly close in the past year, and after a few months of "innocent" rendezvous she'd revealed that from her father's death onwards, all of Feyre's letters were censored - no suspicious missives were allowed within her eyesight. And everything she'd written was carefully worded to give an entirely different meaning to Nesta than it would to Tamlin.

I'd stopped sending letters after that. If none of them were getting through to her anyway, I didn't want to give Lord Springton - Tamlin's father - any more knowledge about my existence than necessary.

So instead I turned my attention towards a more fruitful endeavour, one that predated me ever meeting Feyre, and one that could potentially affect every citizen in the country of Prythian - not just a handful of them.

I'd begun by reaching out to an old friend of mine. I knew Azriel from before the usurpation, since his father had worked as a spymaster for mine. My father had been trying to dig into some of the current monarchy's shady past, and Amarantha hadn't liked that, which was why she'd had my family and the spymaster executed. Springton's completely unfounded accusation gave her just the excuse she'd needed to do it.

To begin with, it had been so easy for me to pin all the blame for my family's deaths on Tamlin's family. I'd loathed Amarantha still for believing the lies, but in my eyes Springton was the sole person to blame. He had been the one to come up with such a blasphemous story; he was the one who'd receive the revenge.

But since Azriel and I had started to go over the case again - Azriel now a spymaster in his own right, good enough to rival his father - I'd learned that nothing was as simple as that.

Yes, Springton was still largely to blame for handing Amarantha the excuse she'd needed to execute a troublesome courtier - but his only vice was his ambition, and his ruthlessness. Those traits, whilst not easily forgiven, could be overlooked.

I was more interested in the Bitch Queen herself. And what dark secrets she might be hiding that had led to her executing one of the noblest lords she ruled over.

What we'd uncovered was unbelievable. Not the part where she'd stolen her throne (although apparently she and Springton were kindred spirits in that aspect); that was perfectly expected of her. She was two-faced, sneaky and cunning. And she _certainly_ wasn't of the blood of the previous king. I would've thought that the fact she was a usurper herself would've been a given.

No. The surprising part was that she actually had a heart.

I still didn't understand how Azriel had uncovered so much dirt, nor how he'd managed to develop such a widespread web of informants in a little over year. But it wasn't my place to wonder. Only to exploit all the information he could get me.

Which was what I was meant to be doing right now, I reminded myself with gritted teeth. I turned away from Feyre's note and back to the report he'd sent me last night - the reason I'd been awake at such an hour and looked out the window to see Feyre trekking through the cold night.

My eyes slid back to the note of their own volition.

 _I don't want to bring any more trouble to your door_.

The irony of that sentence alone did not escape me.

I leaned back in my chair and sighed. An overwhelming wave of tiredness - no, _exhaustion_ \- washed over me. It was all so heavy: the weight of a bitch-queen's secrets she was determined to keep secret, the weight of guarded conversations and guarded emotions, the weight of the knowledge that absolutely nothing I could do would get her out of her hellish situation, and would likely only make it worse.

I missed her. She'd been here last night, and everything had been alright for a moment, because Feyre was here and she was fine and warm and safe and free. I hadn't realised how much I'd missed her until I'd stood in the doorway and heard her voice for the first time in over a year.

Now it hurt. Her absence hurt. It was like the Cauldron had tried to grant me a gift, but had given me a curse instead.

And then the empty night was suddenly too full. Because I half-expected to look outside and seeing her trekking through the village again, or knocking on my door willingly even, or - the worst one - frozen to death on the paving stones. Because with her note so near, and the proof of everything familiar and alien contained within it, I couldn't stop thinking about her.

And knowing that I was as useless to help her get out of her situation now as I had been seventeen months ago hurt so, so much.

 **.~*~.~*~.~*~.**

When I first heard the horses' hoof beats, my first thought was that they were the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, come to destroy us all.

But no. It was worse. It was Feyre.

Like my thoughts had conjured her into being, she was suddenly there, trotting down the street on a dappled grey mare, her head bowed and her cloak - _not_ the one I'd given her, I noted - clutched tightly around her. She was flanked by three men on horseback - no doubt servants of Tamlin's sent to hunt her down - and the red-haired one rode close enough that their legs almost brushed, no doubt to keep her from riding away again. I bristled.

 _Look at me_ , I willed her. _Show me you're still there, still alive, still_ Feyre. _Please, please_ look at me _, Feyre. Please._

But she kept her eyes on the ground, and I think a part of me shattered then and there.

I watched them ride past until they were out of sight, the report sitting untouched on the desk behind me.

 **.~*~.~*~.~*~.**

"Why are you always late, Rhysand? You own the inn. You should be here anyway," Mor pointed out when I finally deigned to join them in their council. It was in the kitchen attached to my own personal living quarters, which were slightly separated from the inn itself, but they were still close enough to the main building to be convenient. Hence Morrigan's question.

"Just shut up, Mor," I told her, a bit curtly, but I was still pissed off about what had happened the previous night so I wasn't in the mood to be polite. I'd barely eaten at all that morning, and now that tea time had rolled around, I was hungry as well as irritable.

She raised a golden eyebrow. "Someone's touchy today."

"Glad you noticed, Morrigan."

" _Morrigan_ _?_ Oh, you must be in a right foul mood then if you're calling me by that long-arse name."

"Well, you did call me _R_ _hysand_ when I walked in so I think that was justified, thanks." I drawled right back, but I could feel a slight smile pick up about my lips. Damn Morrigan and her ability to cheer me up so easily.

I took my seat next to her at the table, and she patted my knee the moment I sat down. I glanced at her. _Want to talk about it?_ Her expression enquired.

I shook my head. _Not just now. Later_.

She nodded, smiled tightly, then clapped her hands and turned back to the table. "So what've you got for us today, Az?" I didn't miss the way the spymaster's eyes tracked her movements adoringly, nor the way his eyes widened slightly when she'd asked him a direct question.

He swallowed. "Well then, Rhys already knows this from the report I sent him two nights ago, but I found out the full story behind Amarantha and her stolen crown. Not to mention who the crown belonged to before, and why Amarantha wanted to take it."

I nodded in confirmation. That had been about the extent of the information I'd been able to digest before Feyre had come and scattered everything in my brain.

Cassian, who sat to Azriel's left, cut in, "And I don't suppose you're going to tell us the story? I love a good story."

"Half-wild beast," muttered Amren, who appeared to be only slightly paying attention as she studied the ruby around her neck - a new purchase, apparently. I tried not to flinch at her words; Feyre had told me that had been Nesta's derogatory term for her when they were teenagers.

"No." Azriel frowned. "I have another matter to discuss first." He turned to me and said baldly, "One of my spies has been injured in her position, and from what she's told me about the situation she appears to be compromised. Considering she's one of the more vital informants we have, I was going to ask if you would allow her to hear this story as well. Hopefully it would convince her to keep her position, rather than dropping out, though I won't force her."

I studied Azriel briefly. He would not have asked if it wasn't vital. It took little to no debating on my part to decide. "Of course," I said, although I had to admit that my stomach roiled at the thought of letting anyone else find out what we'd worked so hard to uncover - at least, finding out before the time was right.

Mor's lips were wan as she said, "Are you sure about this?" sounding uncharacteristically uncertain.

Azriel nodded, ever the silent and stoic one. But it was to me Mor looked at, and it was at my nod that she relaxed.

"Do you have anything else to say, shadow boy, or did you just drag us here to increase the suspense?" Amren drawled suddenly. I sighed.

Maybe having someone new added to the group would be a welcome relief.

 **.~*~.~*~.~*~.**

"Alright, dearest cousin of mine," Mor said the moment we were alone again. She'd followed me back into my study the moment the meeting ended. "Care to tell me what got you quite so rattled, this afternoon?"

"Not just this afternoon," I corrected her. "Last night. Yesterday morning. The night before last." I took a breath. "Feyre."

Mor seemed to freeze with excitement at the name. "Have you heard from her?"

"Of sorts." I rubbed my face. "I met her walking through Velaris at some ungodly hour the night before last and invited her in to spend the night. She begrudgingly agreed, and was gone by the morning light."

" _Why?_ "

"You really think I'd be this bothered if I knew?" I lied quickly, then thought better of it when Mor levelled me a glare. "Fine - she left me a note. Said she didn't want to cause me any trouble or anything."

"Let me see the note." Mor demanded instantly. "I haven't seen anything she'd written in _ages_. It'll make a change from yours and Cassian's illegible scrawl, I'm sure."

I chuckled, sliding my hands into my pockets. I knew that Mor was only being an ass to distract me from the slump I'd been in for the last day, but I appreciated it all the same. "Oh, you're one to talk. No one can read what you write, and that's on a good day, let alone those notes you scrawl when you're half-awake and are telling us you've gone for a morning jog or something."

She smirked. "So are you gonna show me the letter or what?"

I swallowed. "Alright." Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled it out and unfolded it to hand to Mor. "It doesn't sound like Feyre."

Mor's eyes skimmed over it. " _'Hospitality_ '," she scoffed. "' _Trouble to your door'_." Her eyes cut to mine. "And it was definitely Feyre? Not some random posh stranger?" I nodded, my mouth set in a grim line. She furrowed her brows, and read it again. "How-" She began, then stopped; it was clear the words stuck to the back of her throat just as much as they had mine. "How did she look?"

"You mean, was she underfed? Desperate? Sickly? Frail? Drowning under the pressure?" Mor nodded. "All of the above."

She cursed. "We need to get her out of there."

"Don't you think I know that?" I ran my hands through my hair. "It is killing me, Mor, _killing me_ , that I have _no idea how to help her_. How can we help? Short of getting her away and forcing her to live on the run her whole life, there's nothing we can do. And I'm pretty sure that a) she wouldn't like that, b) the bastard would just use it as ammunition to slander us when we challenge Amarantha, and c) her sisters would be punished, and I _do not_ want to see the fallout that will come of that."

"Well, we certainly can't help her with the way we're going," my cousin sighed, running her hands through her own hair. "So far, all that she'll get out of it is probably being executed with the rest of Tamlin's family."

" _She is not his family_." I said fiercely, the words rushing out of me unexpectedly. "And I will _not_ let that happen."

Mor's face was pained, but only contained the stark truth. Morrigan - named for the legendary warrior of truth - wouldn't tell me lies even if it was what I wanted to hear. "You won't have a choice, Rhys." She said sadly. "You won't have the power to stop it, and if you do, it will be called favouritism. Bending the law to help an old friend. You know you couldn't, not immediately after such a massive political change."

I clenched my fists, but I couldn't argue with her statement. "Ask Azriel if he can somehow get her out of this unharmed," I told her. "See if he can protect her, somehow. Call her a fellow conspirator, or something."

"Me? Why not you?" She looked uncomfortable.

"Because he's more likely to listen to you."

"That's bull-"

"Don't lie, Morrigan." My voice came out unnerving low and dark. A guarded look crossed my cousin's face.

"Alright, Rhysand." She replied, eyeing me warily. "I'll do it. And I'll try to before we have that meeting with this informant of his, although no promises." A pause, then she pressed my elbow with a feather-light touch, and said, "Good luck."

I didn't say it back, and when she walked away, I didn't watch her go.

 **.~*~.~*~.~*~.**

I'd found it difficult to focus all afternoon.

Azriel claimed that his informant could meet with us as soon as that evening, but they couldn't come very far, as they had limited time to get there. Something about keeping up the charade. So we'd rented rooms in an inn in the Hewn City, a horrible settlement that was everything I hated about the world situated just a few miles from Moonstone Manor, the place where I had once - and Tamlin currently - lived. Being this close to the place set my teeth on edge, but mainly it was just the abhorrence of the city we were in.

Mor looked even more disturbed - had done ever since her talk with Azriel this afternoon, even. Her father had been the steward of this city before everything had happened, and it'd been this Cauldron-damned hellhole I'd visited her in when I'd gotten the new of what happened, that our family was-

I swallowed. "I'll go and get us some drinks, if we're resigned to waiting," I said, and fished a few marks out of my pocket to step up to the counter. Even as I waited to get the bartender's attention, my eyes periodically glanced at the door

"You looking for someone?"

I started. The bartender was looking at me now, curiosity in her dark eyes. I just nodded wordlessly, accepted the drinks, and carried them back to the table praying she hadn't recognised me. Praying I still went unnoticed.

"When are they supposed to get here?" I asked Azriel again. We were waiting in the bar area for his mysterious informant to show up, and although it was full enough that no one's eyes were on us, I still couldn't help glancing over my shoulder distrustfully. No doubt that in itself looked more suspicious than we did as a group.

I just hoped the person got here soon, so we could retreat to the rooms we'd rented and get on with the discussion.

Mor was equally as restless, her chin up, neck craned as she scanned the crowd. She froze suddenly, her gaze fixed on something over my shoulder, and I whirled to see the person she was looking at.

My heart both stopped and started at once.

Because I knew that gait - I'd commented on it less than three days ago. And the golden brown hair that dipped in front of her face as she slipped in through the door and closed it softly behind her. She wore a thick cloak of decent but not expensive make - I idly wondered where she'd got it. And when she turned to glance around the room, her hair slipped out of her face to expose the yellowing bruises blossoming over her cheekbones. My stomach roiled; they certainly hadn't been there when I last saw her.

Her eyes landed on Azriel, and her face collapsed into relief as she started walking towards us. Then her gaze moved over Cassian, then Mor, then me. She stopped walking and gaped.

"Mor? Cass?" She swallowed. "Rhys?"

I glanced at my friends. Cassian looked as shocked as me, although less horrified. He didn't seem to have put together what this meant yet, and instead was grinning at Feyre like the old friends they were. It hurt to look at, knowing what this must mean.

But the worst thing was: Mor didn't look at all surprised. Like she'd already known who, exactly, we'd be meeting.

So she stepped forward to take our old friend's hand. "Hello Feyre."


	3. Would You Burn Down The World?

**Thanks to Guest, annieherondalelightwood, Sapphire1998, and sga900913 for reviewing!**

 **Guest: Thank you! I smiled so big at your review :)**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own ACOTAR, or any of the characters. Only the plot is mine.**

* * *

 ** _Feyre_**

"Hello Feyre."

She didn't look surprised.

Rhys looked shocked, Cassian looked somewhere between astounded and over the moon, and Azriel had the same expression he always wore. But Mor didn't look surprised at all.

"I'm so happy to see you!" Mor whispered in my ear as she hugged me. "I'm offended you didn't say hi when you were last here." She took a breath, then, "What happened to your-"

I tensed up, and pulled away quickly. I didn't look to see Mor's hurt expression, even as the bruises on my face throbbed at the memory of receiving them. I had more important things to worry about.

She knew about my visit? Was she truly angry, or was she joking? Had she known the whole time that I was the one who'd be meeting them here? Was it her who'd requested that Azriel seek me out as a spy in the first place?

Stiffly, I stepped up to the table and made to take a seat.

"Don't bother," Rhys said. He hadn't taken his eyes off me, but I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze. "We're heading to the back anyway." He stood from his chair, and I gestured for him to lead the way. After a pause, he did.

Cassian grinned at me as we moved. "It's good to see you, Fey," he said, clapping me on the shoulder. "By the way, would you like me to return the salve you lent me when I last saw you? I've tried not to use it up; there's still lots left, I promise."

So Cassian was concerned as well. When I'd last seen him, he'd taken a bad beating in his training session with Rhys, who'd been oddly determined to win that day. I'd lent him the type of salve that'd essentially kept me alive when I was hunting on my own, and he'd never had the chance to give it back. It worked especially well on bruises; my face must look worse than I'd thought, despite the makeup I'd used to try and cover a bit of it up, if both Mor _and_ Cassian had already commented.

But the idea of the salve was wonderful. "Thank you," I said quietly. I knew I'd made a mistake using the tone I used in the manor when Cassian's eyebrows shot into his hairline.

Rather than answer the question forming on his lips, I hastily turned away - to see Rhys watching us with a solemn expression. He'd paused in front of a door just down the corridor in the tavern. "After you," he said.

 **.~*~.~*~.~*~.**

It was hot in the room - hot and stuffy.

There was a rickety table set out in the centre, and it took up most of the floor, with six chairs positioned around it. A pitcher of water and a couple of glasses stood on the table top - which I now realised was scarred and gnarled with what looked like thousand of knife wounds. I awkwardly took a seat, and poured myself some water.

Mor came inside to sit next to me; she squeezed my knee, but I ignored her. Rhys sat opposite me, Amren next to him, leaving Cassian to sit at either end of the table. Amren, reclining in the uncomfortable chair like it was a throne, nodded at my face. "I hope you got a few good hits on him yourself first, girl."

I nodded tightly. I hadn't physically; if I'd actually hit him, the damage done to me would've been a lot worse. But I'm pretty sure some of the things I'd shouted at him in our "lover's spat" this morning would haunt and bother him for much longer than the bruises would bother me. Amren didn't need to know that, though.

Rhys shifted in his seat and said irritably to Azriel, "Are we going to tell her, or what?"

"Tell me what?" I raised an eyebrow, but clenched my fists under the table. I was happy to see them - _Cauldron_ , of course I was - but a part of me wished it had been someone, _anyone_ , else. Even Lucien fucking Vanserra would've made this less awkward.

Amren, as usual, seemed immune to the atmosphere, and just asked, "You don't know why you're here, girl?"

I shrugged, feeling peculiarly like I was being interrogated. It wasn't a nice feeling. Perhaps I shouldn't have come. "Azriel told me to come; I came."

Mor said, "You trust him that much? You blindly follow orders?" She glanced at the head of the table - where Azriel himself was sitting. I didn't look away from her.

"In the situation I'm in," I enunciated clearly, "it would be a poor choice to reject any information that might save my ass if a problem arose. And what's the saying, forewarned is forearmed?" I narrowed my eyes. "I'd be a fool not to."

She met my gaze with shock, anger - and _betrayal_. My friend didn't seem to know what to do with me, with this new hostile feeling between us, and it hurt like a bitch, but I hated public speaking, hated explaining myself, I'd had to do too much of it recently, and couldn't she see that and why couldn't I breathe properly-

"Leave it alone, Mor." Rhys sighed then, for the first time since I'd first come in, I looked squarely at him. He offered me a small, comforting smile as he said, "You know Feyre hates being in the centre of attention. Stop questioning her, and let's get to informing her."

"And the rest of us," Cassian cut in. He waved his hand. "Seeing as Rhys and Az saw fit to keep the details of whatever would be discussed secret, we're all dying to find out as well. So start talking."

But I was still looking at Rhys, and now he was looking at me. I frowned. _How did you know? Can you read my mind or something?_

He smirked, and his violet eyes glinted. _You'll never know_.

 _Prick_.

"We have discovered," Rhys said loudly, then corrected himself. Perhaps this wasn't the sort of thing you shouted at the top of your lungs. "That Amarantha is a usurper."

"Well, no shit." Mor said flatly, inspecting her nails. "We'd guessed that already."

"I know, I know, but this is more interesting. The story behind it," he added, flattening his palms against the table, "is oddly heart-warming."

"Nothing about that bitch is warm," Mor spat, venom in her voice and eyes. I didn't miss the momentary glance that flickered towards Azriel's gnarled hands, waiting patiently on the table - and the scars that adorned them. "Except the blood she bleeds."

Amren yawned. I was vaguely surprised; that was one of the most human expressions I'd ever seen her make. "Stop with the dramatics, you two. I know it runs in your family, but still. I'm getting bored here. And Feyre's probably got to get back to her _charming_ fiancé before dawn rolls around." Rhys stiffened at the mention of Tamlin. Amren waved her hand. "So get on with it."

Rhys smirked, but now there was a shadow to his expression. "As you wish, Tiny Ancient One." I smothered a laugh at the nickname. Amren snarled; Rhys looked pleased. "The run down of it is that the old king had no immediate heirs, and Amarantha and the woman who should be our gracious queen were both his nieces. Neither of them had living parents. Andromache, being the older of the two, should've been the one to inherit, but-"

"What did you say?" Mor's face was pale. "Andromache?"

Rhys nodded. She swallowed. "Amarantha sent assassins to Andromache's door. The fight that ensued was violent enough that when Andromache disappeared, everyone who knew about it assumed she was dead."

"When did this happen?" I cut in. Everyone turned to look at me as I did the maths in my head. "Sixteen, seventeen years ago? Why was it not publicised? The death of a royal - that's pretty big news."

"Because the royal family was massive," Azriel explained. "There were dozens of them - and the king was still young, and fertile, and very much alive. No one expected him to die of a mysterious disease a few months after Andromache disappeared - no one even expected her to need to be queen one day, since the king would've probably had heirs himself, had he lived. And Andromache was estranged from the rest of her family, with different political views to them. Her immediate relatives were all dead; no one particularly mourned her when she 'died' - no one influential, at least."

Only I, sitting right next to Mor, heard her minute gasp. I tapped her thrice on the knee - our old signal - and offered her my hand under the table. After a moment, she clasped it. Hard. But I didn't let go.

"Why did Amarantha want to kill her cousin?" Cassian asked. "Why did she want to be queen?" A pause. "And how the fuck was it heart-warming?"

"You all know there was a war between Prythian and Hybern for the longest time," Azriel said. It wasn't a question. "During this period, it was illegal for people of each country to marry, or be involved in any way. For example, someone from Hybern couldn't marry someone from Prythian.

"Amarantha's younger sister - Clythia - did charity work on the war front, going out and finding wounded soldiers and bringing them back to the hospitals. One day she found Jurian, a soldier from Hybern - and fell in love with him."

Rhys cringed, Cassian sighed, and Amren snorted. Azriel continued, "Our sources tell us that Amarantha tried to argue with the king to end the war, and end the law - without admitting to her sister's crime. But she was only fifteen, and the king wanted the resources that Hybern has, so he continued waging the war. And Amarantha swore to stop him.

"As for her motives for killing her cousin, we can only guess. She hadn't spoken to Andromache in ten years; she had no idea what she was like; she had no way of knowing that if Andromache were to be queen, she wouldn't just escalate the situation. So she decided to deal with her as if she was a threat, and not risk leaving things to chance. Then she killed the king, and became queen." He took a breath. "But not before Clythia was killed in a raid on Prythian's borders, and Amarantha discovered it had been Jurian who led the soldiers right there.

"And so the war rages on - it's an act of revenge on the queen's part. An slowly, every branch of the royal family somehow contracted a disease and was wiped out, or were put into the war to fight and are now missing in action. So we have a queen, with none of her blood alive to challenge her, who's destroying herself and the country to hide her secrets and anger and grief."

We all fell silent for a moment, and I felt it - the weight that settled in the room after Azriel had finished telling his story. The knowledge that Rhys and Azriel's families had _died_ to acquire this knowledge, and that if anyone found out we had it, we would we majorly, royally screwed.

Amarantha wouldn't dare keep us alive if she knew.

"I assume that you found out Andromache is still alive and well and ready to reclaim her crown." Amren said. Mor's hand tightened on mine, until I heard something crack, and a cry caught in my throat. But I squished it down. For Mor.

Azriel gave a succinct nod. "And thanks to Feyre, and all the other spies who helped me gather this information, we've now got a way of ensuring that certain facts and stories find their way into the hands of those people who'll publicise it, until it's common knowledge. and the people who've suffered under the queen's reign, who've been chafing at the bit for an excuse to start a revolution, will be unleashed. And a new era will come."

I looked around the table, at each person, with a hard and keen stare. "And - you're willing to do this? To unleash such - anarchy?"

It was Azriel who said calmly, "Amarantha's support has dwindled these past few months and years. Any revolution would be quick - and efficient. Very few will raise arms to defend her, and there will be few who won't accept Andromache as the new queen. Nor will this information be traced back to us, until we make it public knowledge that Rhysand, son of the late Lord Monstern, who stood up to the evil queen and was punished for it, was behind the truth coming to light. And he gets his title and lands back." I flicked my gaze to Rhys, who looked smug. "Everyone's happy."

"Everyone's happy," I echoed. "Except Amarantha."

"Except Amarantha."

"But no one cares about the bitch queen, anyway," Cassian said. "Not since she murdered all her closest companions. And pissing her off is the entire point of this exercise, I'd have thought."

 _Yes, but. . ._ "Revolution." I said, almost to myself. What if Nesta and Elain got caught up in the middle of it? I could try to protect them, keep them out of it, but if the violence spread to Velaris-

"We can provide a safe place for your sisters to stay for the duration of it, if you'd like."

My gaze shot to Rhys's. _I told you not to read my mind._

He smirked. _I told you; I'm not._

 _Technically, you never told me that; you just answered in an extremely cryptic and vague manner that could've been taken to mean anything._

He clicked his tongue. _Touché._

"Thank you," I said out loud, realising the rest of the table had fallen silent and were politely ignoring our silent discussion. "That would be nice."

Cassian glanced at his wrist. "Hey Feyre, what time do you think you should leave?"

I checked the pocket watch I'd filched from the manor to see it was still yet to be midnight. Tamlin usually came to my rooms to check on me around eight in the morning - if I were to get sufficient sleep to not seem suspicious the next morning, I'd have to be back by three at the latest. "Not for a while yet."

 **.~*~.~*~.~*~.**

"Seriously Feyre, what the fuck happened to you?" Mor asked later that night, when she'd led me to her temporary rooms, propped me in front of a mirror, and insisted on clearing off all the makeup I'd smeared on my face to "see the real extent of the damage". "Did he attack you with a sledgehammer or something?"

"No," I said weakly, as she gently applied the salve Cassian had tossed me as we left what I'd mentally dubbed "the conference room". "I was shouting at him again, when he just sort of. . . exploded. . . and shoved me into a bookcase so hard I fell over, and the bookcase toppled on top of me."

She winced. "Cauldron, Feyre, and you didn't at least smack him for that?"

"I'd have probably been whipped for the trouble," I muttered. "Besides, I didn't allow him near me for hours after that."

Mor just pursed her lips, and continued applying the salve. "Rhys showed me the letter you left, by the way," she informed me. "I laughed for ages at the irony in it. ' _I don't want to bring any trouble to your door_ '."

I winced myself - half from the throbbing pain in my face, half from the naivety of that statement. "It does seem pretty stupid looking back now."

"Ah, the wonders of hindsight."

We fell silent for a moment, and I closed my eyes, allowing myself to enjoy the feeling of Mor's cool, loving fingers helping me with my wounds. It was a luxury I doubted I'd get any time soon. "I meant to ask you - about Andromache," I began, and her fingers stilled. I cracked my left eye open. "You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to, but I was just curious."

"No, you should know." Mor quickly finished up her administrations and sealed the tin of salve again. "You're the one who covered for me in there. And I'd explain, but it would be better if I showed you it yourself. Can you bear the leave the same place Rhysand is for now, or is it too unbearable for you?"

I scowled at her suggestive tone; she laughed, and took it as confirmation to let her drag me out the door.

 **.~*~.~*~.~*~.**

When Rhys and Mor had told me about the Hewn City when we were younger, I'd found it difficult to understand what they meant by describing it so horribly. How could a city be entirely awful, wholly unrepentant? Surely at least _some_ citizens were good people.

But walking through it myself, I realised that good people had probably moved out at the first chance they got.

Honestly, I didn't think that words could ever describe what I saw, and I'm not articulate enough to try. So I won't. But I painted the city later in life, and gladly watched those paintings burn.

"So," I said when we'd finally reached a street deserted of people. The syllable was rolled over my tongue like a hard boiled sweet. "I take it you knew I would be the one to come because Azriel told you?"

Mor turned so quickly she almost fell over. "How did you- Never mind, actually, I know you can be oddly observant sometimes." She shook her head. "You're right though. He told me when Rhys asked me to ask him about the possibility of getting you out of your engagement with Tamlin, and Az said that if all goes well, you'll get out of it anyway."

That Rhys would bother to try, that Mor would ask- "Thank you." I felt warm all over.

Mor didn't respond. "We're here."

The rightful queen of Prythian lived in a derelict block of flats on the outskirts of the Hewn City, near to a rubbish dump. Mor jabbed a button in a metal panel next to the door, with wires sticking out higgledy piggledy and the names of the residents beside it in faded ink. I half-expected her to get electrocuted just by touching it, before I remembered we were in an urban environment, a city; no matter how run down the place was, numerous laws were in place to regulate electricity.

So nothing went wrong, and I, a rural village girl born and raised, got to witness the best of the technology developed in the past year when there was the hiss of what I assumed was a microphone and a voice crackled over the speakers. _"Hello?"_

"Hello, dearest Andromache," Mor said smoothly. Her lips seemed to hug the syllables of the woman's name, and her entire countenance lit up like one of the faulty street lamps.

 _"Morrigan,"_ the voice sighed. _"What's wrong?"_

"How can you tell-"

 _"I can always tell, Mor,"_ the voice was light-hearted, but solemn. _"You're an open book."_

"Okay, well, I have a friend who'd like to meet you, and a situation to explain, so it'd be much appreciated if you could let us in."

A small laugh, and I could almost imagine the faceless woman on the other side smothering a smile at Mor's dramatic words. _"Alright, come on up. I'd like to meet this friend of yours."_ A pause. _"Are they your cousin?"_

"No," Mor answered instantly, then gave me a sly glance. "Just someone who's in love with him, and always has been."

I squawked at her, and Mor laughed. So did Andromache, who said, _"Come in then,"_ and Mor jiggled the doorknob and opened the door.

"Andromache lives on the third floor," Mor informed me as we ascended. "It's a charming flat, hers; it really reflects her character."

We kept climbing, and I felt nerves start to jitter in my stomach as we finished the third flight of stairs and rounded onto the third floor. Mor immediately made for the door painted with pale pink peeling paint, and the name _Andromache_ written on the front of it. We had barely stepped towards it when it swung inwards, and a tall woman with bronze skin, gold hair and shockingly gold eyes, like a lion. She wore her frizzy hair tied back with a brown headband, and carried a toddler on her hip, who had the same colouring as her.

She looked very different to the glimpses of Amarantha I had caught at public festivals and parades, but they both had the sort of sharp bone structure, and the regal beauty, that must've run in their family.

She and Mor locked eyes with a gaze that seemed so intimate I immediately looked away. My eyes fell on the toddler in Andromache's arms, who was similarly looking at me; her blazing eyes were wide, and she sucked on her thumb with a determination I hadn't seen in anyone before - adult or child.

When Andromache looked at me, she said, "You must be Feyre. Mor's told me a lot about you before." She reached out a hand to me, and I shook it. She had a lovely accent, and the way she pronounced her words gave away that she was highborn, even if her countenance didn't. "I'm Andromache. And this is Demetra." She gestured to the baby, who I smiled at, and felt immense satisfaction when Demetra smiled back. "Come in, both of you."

Mor was right: It was a nice flat. The furniture was tastefully arranged, and the place had an air of homeliness to it that Rhys's inn also had, and that Tamlin's manor could never hope to replicate.

Andromache set Demetra down to make us a drink; the toddler waddled over to Mor, who cooed and lifted her into her lap. "I assume you know that Mor and I are together," Andromache commented as she poured what looked like lemonade into two glasses.

I glanced at Mor with a suggestive smirk; she blushed redder than a sunset. "No," I admitted, "but she told me enough, and acted strangely enough for me to guess."

Andromache quirked an eyebrow at her girlfriend, and Mor blushed again. I had to look away.

"So, what's the situation you were talking about?" The woman asked then, handing us the glasses. She addressed Mor, but since she didn't seem inclined to answer bluntly, I stepped in.

"We heard you're royalty," I said flatly, watching with regret as Andromache's face drained of colour, "and that you've been in contact with a certain spymaster named Azriel."

Andromache blanched, covering her face with her hands. "I-"

"We're not here to attack you, Andy," Mor soothed, standing and going to touch her girlfriend's shoulder. Demetra, dislodged, grumpily stole her seat. "And we know what happened with your cousin. We just came to tell you that we know Azriel, we're a part of this movement, and we'll be here to help you throughout it."

Andromache lowered her hands. "You know Azriel?"

Mor clasped one of her hands in her own. "Yes. It was my uncle, actually, Lord Monstern and his spymaster, who first started digging into Amarantha's past and what had happened - this was seven years ago. She had him executed on trumped up charges so he couldn't look any further and find the truth.

"My little cousin, Adria, and my aunt were executed alongside him." There was a darkness to Mor's voice - the sort of sad darkness Rhys carried with him. "And Rhysand only survived because he was visiting me at the time. So we both wanted to find out _what_ , exactly, spurred her to kill them - and maybe get our revenge. We didn't know. We just knew we had to look into it.

"And we did. We tracked down Azriel - who was the son of the previous spymaster, and Rhys's friend - and he began digging. He wanted to find out as much as we did - his own father had been killed as well. He'd been tortured too, even though he had nothing to do with it, and he still bears the scars on his hands.

"And you know how Feyre here had the misfortune of being forced into an engagement with Tamlin? She decided to use it to her advantage, and became one of Azriel's many spies throughout the kingdom. So we slowly pieced together the information, until we found the truth. And I just came here to ask," Mor breathed in deeply, "that you're sure about this. That you're in, through and through, crown and all, because my cousin and friends have suffered and fought so hard for this dream, and I love you, but I refuse to let it fall at the final hurdle."

Andromache's lip was trembling. "Sometimes I forget how protective you can be," she said. "Sometimes I forget that whilst you're always beautiful, you're always more beautiful with righteousness, with love, with _hope_." She stepped forwards, and took Mor's face in her hands. I looked away hastily; it was another moment I felt like I was intruding on. "Of course I'm in, through and through. Demetra deserves to know what it's like to be a princess, and a home beyond this Cauldron-damned city. And _you_ deserve to get your dream."

She took a shaky breath. "I'm meant to be meeting with Azriel tomorrow in Velaris anyway. I presume I'll see you then?" Mor nodded, and Andromache leaned forwards to kiss her. I looked away again, chuckling to myself when I saw Demetra doing the same.

Andromache pulled back first, and glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. "It's getting very late. You two should be heading back soon." I looked, and sure enough, it was approaching two am. I had little over an hour to get back to the manor.

Mor nodded, looking slightly dazed, and I had to pull her out of that flat. But when she was tiptoeing down the stairs, Andromache stopped me as I exited.

Her eyes were feverish with earnesty. "You deserve to get your dream too, Feyre Archeron." My shock must've shown on my face, because she continued. "Mor's told me a lot about you, and how much you love your sisters. Amarantha loved her sister as well." She smiled, a little sadly, at me. "Tell me, for I never had siblings: How does it feel, to love them that much? I love Demetra, but. . . If they were threatened, would you burn down the world?"

I thought of Nesta's passion, of Elain's kindness. "I would do anything for them," I began slowly, "so long as it would help them. Good or bad, legal or illegal, I would do it, but only if it made them better. I don't think burning the world down would do that."

"Good." Andromache squeezed my hand. "Just make sure you stick to those words, and you won't go wrong. Amarantha didn't stick to them - and here we are now."

Her eyes flashed, and it suddenly occurred to me that this woman may not be as forgiving or soft as she appeared. That there was the thread of steel she would need to love and handle Mor, in all her tempestuous greatness. "Love can be a curse."

"Love can be a poison," I agreed, thinking of Tamlin and me, of Amarantha and Clythia, of Azriel loving Mor when she'd never ever love him back. Then I thought of Rhys and Cassian and Mor and Andromache, who all kept loving despite it. Of me and Nesta and Elain, who loved each other despite our drastic differences, because that was what family did: they broke, but they always mended.

Always.

"But it can also be a salve."


	4. All's Well That Ends Well?

**I apologise for how much Nesta bashing there is in this - it's from Rhys's POV, and I always got the sense he hated her. It would be a lot nicer if it was Feyre's POV.**

 **Trigger warning for mentions of rape in this chapter.**

* * *

 _Rhysand_

Azriel released the information a few weeks later. The newspapers ate it up, and sent out reporters sniffing for the scraps of who'd gathered it, and how long they'd been sitting on it, and why they'd chosen to unleash it. Amarantha had been tracking down each and every media source that publicised it, but there were so many, and the few she did catch managed to escape punishment after all the nationalists and autocrats she relied on realised what a monster she was.

It was almost sickening, I'd thought when Mor had first told me, gleeful smile plastered to her face, that they needed to know that she'd killed princes and princesses of the realm before they understood that the mindless murder of common citizens known as war was also wrong.

But I didn't care that evening. If the bitch queen herself had knocked on the door, I wouldn't have cared.

Because Mor had just told me that whilst his family had been captured, Tamlin had disappeared, and taken Feyre with him.

Since Andromache had met with us all, and we'd polished over the final details of our plan, Feyre's friend Suriel had been popping up in Velaris unusually frequently, and would accidentally drop the occasional note or scrap of paper that just so happened to have Feyre's handwriting on it. And it just so happened to find it's way into my possession multiple times, and, oddly enough, Suriel somehow wound up carrying a similarly innocuous piece of paper with my handwriting on it back to the manor.

But the correspondences had dried up in the last few days. I'd grown to expect Suriel every one or two days, so when we went five days without hearing from Feyre at all, I began to get worried.

Then Mor told me that a bedraggled and desperate Suriel had ended up on our doorstep, with news that stopped my heart in its chest.

Tamlin had caught Feyre trying to leave the manor, and in a fit of rage, beaten her until she admitted she'd been trying to run away. She'd tried to pass it off as being afraid of being targeted by the people who'd now put a price on Amarantha's, and therefore Tamlin's, head. According to Suriel, he'd bought it in part, but had also accused her of not wanting to marry him, and in an attempt to protect herself from his wrath should he find out the truth, she'd pleaded that she did.

He'd believed her, Suriel said. But he'd said it was best they get married as soon as possible - the moment they were safely in hiding - so she could prove it.

Now Feyre was gone, Azriel was dealing with the backlash from our colossal undertaking, and we had no idea where to look for her.

"Are you sure he never said anything? He never suggested where he might go, or any preferences he's had for wedding venues?" I couldn't believe I was desperate enough to ask Suriel about _wedding venues_ , but it was Feyre. No explanations needed. It was Feyre.

Suriel bit her lip, and gave me a look that I was pretty sure she'd learned from our friend. It was a look that said _Listen up, 'cause I've got one last thing you'll want to hear_. She said simply, "Feyre mentioned offhandedly a few months ago that there was no way she would ever get married unless her sisters were present."

 _A few months ago. . ._

I shouted over my shoulder at Mor, who was conversing with Andromache and Azriel in low, worried tones, "We're visiting Nesta and Elain right this instant!"

 **.~*~.~*~.~*~.**

"So you're telling me that you let my sister go back into an abusive environment all for the sake of a few secrets? And now she's _gone_?"

I loved dealing with Nesta Archeron.

A muscle twitched in my jaw. "It wasn't a matter of _letting_ Feyre do anything - she is her own person, as you well know. And those _few secrets_ happened to topple Amarantha's entire regime. Feyre was instrumental in that."

"Don't get using your fancy lordling words on me!" She hissed. I was struck with déjà vu for a moment; Feyre used to complain of exactly the same thing. "Say what you mean: she chose to go in, and it was important. But that doesn't mean you can't help protect her.

"You _know_ that she never stops working. Never stops giving. Always has, ever since we were children. And you could never be bothered to tell her that she'd given enough?" Her eyes were bright at she stood from her chair, and it shocked me into a moment of silence. Nesta Archeron never struck me as the type of woman to cry. "I thought you were supposed to care about her!"

I couldn't help it. I'd never liked Nesta, only putting up with her for Feyre and Cassian's sake, and the hypocrisy in this argument was overwhelming. "Coming from the sister who insisted on making her job as hard as possible!"

"I was a child!" Nesta shouted back. "I was a-" She stopped, and took a deep breath. "I don't need to explain myself to you. Feyre and I already had this conversation, and she knows and forgives where I was coming from. We have been on good terms ever since. But _you_ do not get to criticise me for things I regret doing in the past, when _you_ are tantamount to doing the _exact same things_ in the present."

"That's enough, Nesta," Elain said from the doorway. Her tone was uncharacteristically sharp. I glanced back at her; she'd gone off with Mor to find the invitations they'd received the day before. "Arguing is not helping our sister. Sitting down and talking about what to do, on the other hand, can. So I've shown Morrigan the destination written on the invitations, and how we can discuss what to do from here."

She tossed the cards onto the table, and sat down with a thump. Mor hastily made to do the same. Amren had apparently had other plans, Azriel had had to stay behind at the inn to "monitor things" and Cassian had decided to hang around to help him as well, though he'd requested that I rile up Nesta as much as I could to compensate for his absence. So it was just the four of us here.

I couldn't even bring myself to feel guilty for the petty spite that led me to follow his advice.

"Right," Mor said, eyes flitting across the emblazoned card. "Ooh, I know this place. You remember Starfall Pond?" She addressed me. "The pond with the pretty residence next to it, in the middle of Illyrian Woods?"

"I do know the layout of my own lorddom, Mor," I said dryly. "And yes, I know what you're talking about. The pond we used to dance beside during the annual meteor showers, that was rumoured to be made of liquid starlight or something. You were fascinated with it as a kid."

"So were you," she teased right back. "And your mother. And your father. And Lyria. We all were."

 _Lyria_. I shoved the thought of my sister aside. "My point is, I know what you're talking about. So, the wedding will be held there?"

The mention of the wedding sobered her up again. "Yes." A pause. "I have to hand it to him - it's a nice spot for a wedding. And it's scheduled on Starfall as well. That would be a union to see."

"There's no way he knew about Starfall." My gut roiled at the thought. Starfall was for me and my family - not murderers. Not usurpers. It was a sacred memory.

"Does it matter?" Nesta snapped. Apparently, she couldn't stay quiet for very long. Not without shoving her own unwanted judgement on other people's business. "My sister is about to get married to a monster. Who cares about a celestial event going on millions of miles away?"

I wanted to snap back, but. . . She was right. Memories were just memories. Feyre was. . . Feyre.

"Right," I said. "So now that we know where she is - or rather, where she'll be at noon tomorrow - what are we going to do to get her out of this?"

The look in Mor's eye was murderous - in a good way, if that was possible. She looked ready to tear the world apart and put it back together in a better arrangement. "I have an idea."

 **.~*~.~*~.~*~.**

We arrived back in Velaris with Nesta and Elain in tow - they'd refused to stay out of it. "She's our sister," Nesta had argued. "The invitations were for us. And you're telling me that I can't fulfil your high expectations of what siblings should do for each other? Don't be such a fucking hypocrite."

The moment Nesta Archeron swore at you, you knew you'd lost. She used it as a sort of punctuation mark - a way of saying, _I didn't even need to cuss to win this argument_.

So now I had to ignore Cassian's thinly veiled attempts at flirting and Nesta's snarky responses. They eventually became background chatter to the plan we laid out.

We were going to crash a wedding. And then we were going to get even more people to crash a wedding. Cassian said he loved the plan already.

I turned to Suriel. "And you're sure you can get this message across?"

She looked somewhere between insulted and disdainful at the question. "Of course I can. Is it not possible for you to trust me?"

"Actually, that's a decent point," Nesta butted in. I prayed to the Cauldron for patience. "Why _should_ we trust you?"

Suriel turned her dark-eyed gaze on Feyre's sister, and if it was me she'd been looking at like that, I'd have cowered in fear. "Why should just trust me?" She said in a low voice. I understood why Feyre had relied on her so much in such an uncertain environment. "Because if Tamlin found out I was here, he'd kill me? Because I love Feyre just as much as you do? Because even if I didn't, Feyre saved my life when I first met her, and this is the least I could do to repay her?"

Nesta blanched at the admission, her lips going white. Suriel didn't back down. I'd have dismissed the slip as just that - a slip of the tongue. But Suriel was always careful with words. She knew how to wield information to the maximum effect, and knew how to keep secrets in the heat of the moment as well. I suspected she knew exactly what effect her words would create.

Feyre's bossy relative seemed struck silent. And it was Elain - gentle Elain - who stepped up, placed a hand on her sister's shoulder, and asked tentatively, "What happened?"

Suriel's tone was bitter. "I'd stolen a few apples from the manor - nothing major, I just wanted to be able to provide my relatives with something to eat for once. I was a scullery maid; my pay was awful. But Tamlin found out, and ordered that I receive twenty lashes."

"Shit." Cassian had entered the room now. "That could've killed you - _would've_ killed you. _Ten_ lashes might've killed you."

Suriel nodded. "I know. And Feyre knew too - she tried to talk Tamlin into pardoning me, and he agreed on a smaller punishment. I was fined a small amount of money, but soon after Feyre got me switched jobs to her personal maid, so my salary improved and I was able to pay my fine. She saved my job, and quite possibly my life."

She narrowed her eyes at Nesta. "So don't you dare insinuate that I don't care about Feyre, or that I can't be trusted to do this. There's love between me and Feyre, but debts too. So even if the love doesn't bind me to it, debts are still there. And I'll be damned before I let her get forced into a marriage with that bastard." She eyed me coolly. "So I _will_ track down the people who can help, and I _will_ get them to do as you ask. Is it so hard to let go of control for once?"

No. The hard part was letting strangers - even ones vital to the plan - like Andromache and Nesta and Elain and Suriel into our tight knit group. The hard part was trusting people I either barely knew or even hated. And the hard part was knowing I didn't have a choice in the matter.

"Yes," I said simply - the truth, but not the full truth. "It is. But I'll try."

Suriel left the inn within the hour, and I could only hope she did her job well. Or, well enough.

We left ourselves at dawn the next morning, and I couldn't ignore the gnawing pit in my stomach when I realised just how spectacularly past and present, childhood and adulthood, were about to collide.

 **.~*~.~*~.~*~.**

The wedding was a mess of glitter, silk and chiffon. Banners and sashes hung from the trees, and the woods of my childhood looked like a spring court bedecked in winter, with bundles of white strewn everywhere. Even the cushions on the chairs were a sickly pure ivory. The place was full of people - all things considered, I was surprised so many were here. But there weren't as many as there would have been, and that was one of the many reasons Tamlin wouldn't get the wedding reception he wanted today.

The problem with having your wedding in an open venue, I mused, was that if you couldn't see beyond the treeline, then you couldn't see who was hiding behind it. And with the set up on once side of the lake, with open forest on the other flank, it would be very easy for gate crashers to hide or sneak in.

Gate crashers such as ourselves, for instance.

"I can't see her," I hissed to Mor, who was crouching next to me in the brush. She gave me a critical look - both for my comment, and for the fact that I was getting dirt on my suit.

"That's because she hasn't come out yet, idiot," she informed me. She flicked my forehead for good measure. "It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding and all that bullshit. You'll see her when she walks down the aisle. And then you do as we discussed."

"What, distract them with my insufferable, pompous attitude until the riots come?" I asked sarcastically.

"There you go. You're getting into the persona already." I scowled at her, and she flipped me a quick smirk. "Hey, at least you know one person will be pleased to see you."

Right. Feyre. Feyre would be pleased to see me turn up. Pleased to see we hadn't decided to abandon her at the first opportunity. I opened my mouth to say something, but Mor shushed me. "It's starting."

Music played, and it set my nerves on edge. The slow sound of footsteps came; I clenched my teeth. Then Feyre came into view.

My first thought: What the fuck was she wearing?

It appeared to be a monstrosity of frills and fabric. It swished around and tangled with her bodice, and she looked like she was transporting her own miniature cloud with every step. A flicker of tulles, then a glimpse of her leg; I saw she was wearing trousers underneath it. I wondered if Tamlin knew.

 _He_ looked a sight at the altar, all dressed up in white and gold. I thought I recognised the red-haired man at his side as Lucien from Feyre's stories, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to roar or smile sympathetically at him. Feyre had mixed feelings herself, she'd told me. I turned my gaze back to her, only to find she'd halted.

 _What?_

I leaned as far forwards out of the foliage as I could without being seen, and craned my neck to look at her. Her eyes were fixed firmly on the ground, her face paler than her dress, her expression a mask of horror. She was staring at the red rose petals on the ground, sprinkled innocuously amongst the white like spots of blood on a tissue.

Feyre was mouthing something. I squinted, and could lip read her well enough to understand it was one word, over and over again.

 _No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no!_

Her chest rose and fell erratically. She looked like she was going to faint. Her hands fisted in the material of her dress, leaving sharp creases where she twisted them. Then she mouthed something else, something that clicked in my mind and gave me a sinking feeling in my gut.

 _Papa._

She'd never called her father that, Feyre had told me. Not since she was eight. Except when they'd- Except when those monsters had-

 _Papa_. She mouthed it again, and, if anything, grew more terrified.

I glanced at Tamlin, who looked faintly concerned. Did he not care that his fiancée was having a panic attack? Did he just want her to get it over and done with? Was he debating whether to be strict with her and force her to keep going, or would he want to show all these dignitaries what a caring husband he would be by actually giving a shit?

A thought, more potent than the last: _Has this happened before?_

I would kill him. I would kill him.

Mor jabbed me. "Go, Rhysand." There was panic in her voice too. "Go now."

Tamlin wasn't going to move to help her.

So I did instead.

I was next to her in an instant, my heart beating so wildly I thought it might be a thunderclap in my ears. I drew every eye as I stopped a few paces behind her, and purred, "Hello, Feyre darling."

 **.~*~.~*~.~*~.**

Feyre stopped breathing altogether. Panic shot through me.

Then she sighed deeply, and turned. Her brows cleared slightly when she laid eyes on me. "Rhys," she said, breathless. "Rhys, I- I can't-"

Tamlin was storming down the aisle now. His voice was a growl as he addressed me. Not a glance at his bride, not a look checking if she was alright. I imagined claws sliding out from the tips of his fingers, his entire body shifting to expose the true beast he was. It was an entertaining image, and it was gone too soon. "Who are you?"

He didn't remember? I found that hard to believe. Or perhaps I just hadn't been worth knowing at the time I might have known him; my father had been the real target. But I also suspected he didn't want to admit that he recognised me.

"Rhysand Monstern," I said smoothly, and flashed a near feral grin. I heard the murmurs that the name induced spread out amongst the reception like ripples in a pond. "I've heard that your father was acquainted with mine?"

Tamlin's face had drained of colour. For the first time he glanced at Feyre, who had looked back down at the ground. I could hear her struggling to regulate her breathing. "I've heard the same," he said shortly. _So he doesn't want to go into the details - why?_ "Feyre," he barked. She flinched, and his tone softened minutely. "How do you know him?"

She glanced up, and quickly back down again. She was shaking, and tilting, and she was going to fall-

I stepped closer to her, taking her elbow gently, trying not to grip it. She leaned into me for support.

"We're childhood friends," I summarised briefly. At Tamlin's narrowed eyes, I added, "Well, from after everything happened. In our teens, you understand." I didn't wait for him to nod before barrelling on. "And I had been expecting her to invite me to her wedding - we _were_ best friends after all. But, her sisters informed me of the harried nature of this celebration, so I can't really fault you for your negligence, can I?"

Inwardly, I swore. Feyre was going to go off at me later for that comment - I'd effectively incriminated Nesta and Elain and put them down as targets. Tamlin glanced over my shoulder, and I twisted to see the two women in question glaring at me from the back row. I gave them a sheepish smile.

But hey, all's well that ends well, right?

"Anyway, I was just going to take a seat when I saw my old friend was in the midst of a panic attack, and simply had to step in to help," I finished with a charming smile. Tamlin did not look impressed. I turned to Feyre, "Are you okay?"

She couldn't nod or shake her head; she was trembling too badly.

I glanced at Mor, concealed in the woods. _How much longer do I need to distract them?_ the glance asked.

 _Just hold on_ , she mouthed in reply.

"Shouldn't we move Feyre to a less crowded place, where she can recover?" I asked Tamlin. I was stalling, I knew, and I knew I needed to keep Tamlin and his entourage here - but that didn't mean I had to keep Feyre in the crossfire.

"True love is the cure for all, good sir," came an insufferable voice. I looked up at the altar, and fought to keep my shock and disdain from writing itself across my face. Ianthe.

She'd been the High Priestess of the manor even when I'd lived there. I remembered her well - _too_ well.

 _I think you'll find me a very diverting playmate. . ._

I tried to keep my countenance schooled in a jovial, unthreatening composure. But my throat bobbed, and her saccharine smile told me she'd seen it.

Bitch. _Bitch_. I wouldn't be surprised if _she_ had put the red petals amongst the white. With the way she looked at Feyre, like the woman was a piece of fat burning in the fire, I thought it increasingly likely that she had.

"A nice one liner in speeches, I'm sure, High Priestess," I responded to her comment, "but significantly less powerful when applied to real context. What Feyre needs in a calm, quiet place where she can recover on her own, don't you agree? Weddings are joyous affairs, but the pressure and stress can be overwhelming."

Tamlin narrowed his eyes a me again. _That's right_ , I wanted to say. _I provided you with a perfect alibi to say that it wasn't PTSD, it wasn't trauma, it wasn't your fault that she had a panic attack. Now you can just chalk it up to wedding nerves and hope no one looks too closely._ My stare had turned hard. _Say it, I dare you. Prove what an asshole you are._

He swallowed. "I think," he announced to the crowd, "that Lady Feyre needs rest and recuperation to recover from the wedding jitters. If you could all come back tomorrow, so we can repeat it-"

"It's alright," I said quickly. I had to keep them in this area, or it would be pointless. "I brought a carriage with me, and we can take Feyre in there. If you try to control the crowd, possibly give them some sort of compensation to make up for the missed day of joy. . . we can take her to a quiet place."

Tamlin's lips tightened into a thin line. He reached for Feyre's elbow, but she recoiled sharply, and the fear on her face was so obvious, even to him, that it gave him pause. He tucked his arm again his side, and said with false concern, "You're sure you can take care of her? If anything were to happen to her. . ." He let the sentence trail off, and I couldn't tell if he meant it as a threat or a fear.

"I'll guard her with my life," I assured him. "No need to worry."

He bit his lip, and nodded. I tried not to let my sigh of relief be too obvious as we rushed away.

I shoved the carriage door open the moment we got to it, and then Feyre was throwing herself in, and I followed after her. I heard running footsteps, then peeked out to the window to see Mor moving into the driver's seat, and getting the horses to move.

We were getting out of there.

Feyre gripped her dress so tightly that when she pulled her hands away, parts of the dress came with them. Wispy scraps of fabric floated to the ground. "You actually had a carriage," she whispered hoarsely. She was still shaking, but less so, now. "I thought you made that up."

"Oh I did," I sat back and smiled at her, but got only haunted looks in return. The smile slipped. "This is Nesta and Elain's. But you know, Mor left them our horses, so they can't really complain.

The corners of her lips tugged up like she might laugh, but she didn't. "Thank you," she said.

"Any time," I said truthfully. She smiled again before closing her eyes. The ground started to slope beneath us; I felt the carriage rock.

Feyre glanced out of the window for an instant with puzzled eyes, then sucked in a breath. "We're going up the hill," she observed. "Not down."

"Yes," I admitted. The manor was built halfway up a large mountain-hill, with the lake further up than that. But we were going higher than that. "There's a small cottage at the top where my mother used to take us to play. We figured that was as good a place as any to lie low for a bit whilst Tamlin's dealing with riots."

" _Riots?_ " She started shaking all over again.

I swallowed, and tried to smile. "Yes. Suriel spread the word about _where_ , exactly, the heir to the lorddom had fled, and nationalists done with Amarantha's bullshit and her allies will soon be there to take him into custody. Most of the guests should walk free though," I added at the look on her face, "and Cassian's checking to make sure Nesta and Elain get out safely, although to be honest, I pity anyone who has to go up against _them_."

Feyre had to chuckle at that. I considered it a victory.

I didn't have much else to feel victorious about, after all.

 **.~*~.~*~.~*~.**

The cottage was exactly as I remembered it, down to the paint handprints Mor and I had left on the wall when our palms were the size of the balls of knotted tassels on the fringes of the rug. Everything was covered in thick dust, and my heart ached to see it all forgotten for so long.

No longer.

We installed Feyre into one of the rooms, and Mor dug up one of my mother's old outfits left behind in the drawers. It looked like it would fit, so we gave Feyre the option of changing out of her hideous dress. She looked a little unnerved by the prospect of wearing a dead woman's clothes, but she'd done stranger things to survive in her years, and put up with it.

I'd forgotten it was Starfall.

It was the middle of the night when a stray breeze from the open door snaked its way into the room I was sleeping in and woke me up. I yawned, and went to shut the door, when I noticed two things: first, the paintings now adorning the cabin and patio, next, Feyre lying on the patio watching the sky, then the sky itself.

"You painted," I said. I bent down to inspect one of the creations: ice melting on the windowsill into the fully embellished green trees of summer. It was beautiful.

"I couldn't sleep."

I went outside to lie next to her. The falling stars were reflected in her irises as she said, "You described it really well - what Starfall was like. But I never imagined it to be quite _this_ beautiful."

I didn't know what to say in response, other than, "I'm glad you like it." Then I tacked a shallow, "How are you feeling?" on the end.

She reached up a hand to the sky, like she could catch a star with her fingertips and go soaring with it into oblivion. "Indifferent," she said. "Empty. Grateful, that you got me out. But every time I try to imagine what it might be like if you hadn't - what I might be doing right now if you hadn't - and I go blank. My mind won't let me even consider it."

"That's called survival," I told her. She huffed a laugh.

"So, what've I missed since I disappeared?" I didn't miss the abrupt change of subject, but I let it slide and just answered for now.

"Not much, really," I rubbed the back of my head. "Suriel blew up at me. Nesta blew up at me. Everyone blew up at me. I was slightly panicked and not a nice person to be around once I'd found out you were gone." I couldn't see her fully in the dark, but I imagined the blush attacking her face nevertheless. "Nesta was especially angry - and worried. She really loves you."

"I know." There was an odd sort of peace to her voice. "We've discussed it."

Once again, I didn't know what to say in response, so I stretched out my arms, and accidentally hit something wet and slimy.

"Oh yeah, by the way, don't put your hand there," Feyre supplied, most unhelpfully. She was definitely laughing at me. "There's wet paint."

I sat up, and flicked some at her face. "A little warning next time, darling."

"All right, then," she replied. I heard the mischief in her voice, but didn't note it until it was too late. "Watch out." And then she sent a glob of white paint careening towards my face.

"Hey!" I wiped paint out of my eyes. Twisting to look at her, I found her laughing at me, the white paint I'd flicked at her making her freckles glow.

"What? I did warn you."

"Cruel, beautiful thing," I purred, and she laughed again.

"Prick," was her response.

I turned my head to retaliate, only to find our faces inches apart. I froze, trying not to look at her lips. Feyre stiffened as well.

She leaned back slightly, and established our previous positions. I couldn't deny the pang of disappointment in my gut. But then she took my head, and began to sketch something on my palm. A star.

She'd. . . painted on me.

I looked from Feyre to the stars to the painting and back again. And I swear my heart stopped when I saw the broad, brilliant smile she'd donned.

Feyre. She'd looked so frail and weak when I'd seen her that cold night outside the inn, millennia and millennia ago. She'd looked so timid in the Hewn City. She'd looked so scared today. And here she was again, the Feyre I knew and adored, smiling again, strong and loving and wonderful.

Was there anything more exquisite?

I didn't think so. So I smiled back, and for a moment, everything was right with the world.

* * *

 **What did you think? I'd love to hear any feedback you have. Next chapter's the epilogue, so if there's anything in particular you'd like to see, please say so in the reviews!**


	5. Haven't I Given Enough Already?

**This chapter's short, but it's because it's the epilogue; it doesn't really have any decisive plot. It's just showing the path the characters will take once the story is finished.**

 **Guest: I'm sorry, but I'm never going to give Tamlin an explicitly happy ending. I hate him too much for that. He gets a sort of ambiguous one here, but I'm not giving him a happy one. If you like, you can make up what happens to him after this, but I won't write it. Thanks for reviewing anyway.**

 **Fire Breathing Queen: Again, I'm sorry, but the epilogue is set only a short time after the previous chapter, so I can't just throw in Elriel or Nessian without there having been no build up to it in the rest of the story. Feysand's here, but since it's from Mor's point of view she didn't actually witness any kissing. Thanks for reviewing!**

 **Lanira: Thank you! Your review made me smile so much. I couldn't include any Nessian, because there wasn't really any build up to it during the story, but this chapter's from Mor's point of view so there's _lots_ of Mor x Andromache. :)**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own ACOTAR.**

* * *

 _Morrigan_

Andromache looked worried. Hell, Andromache always looked worried nowadays. She'd been moved instantly into the royal palace after the minor rebellion that had quelled all of Amarantha's resistance, and ever since I'd been witness to the tension in her body, the jumpy way she moved, the habit of checking over her shoulder every five minutes. I didn't blame her.

Too many times in the last handle of weeks had I babysat Demetra because her mother was recovering from another assassination attempt and didn't trust the palace nurses.

 _Haven't I given enough already?_ I'd heard her murmur once, though I wasn't sure if it was actually some uncharacteristic bitterness shining through, or my imagination projecting it. I was bitter enough for the both of us.

My queen. My gentle, fierce, sweet golden queen. This burden was destroying her, and she wasn't even coronated yet.

I dreaded to think that this would be her life now. That she would have to sit alone on that throne until the day she died, with no family except Demetra and any offspring she might have with a marriage her advisors may arrange for her. She deserved so much more. She deserved the world.

No, that wasn't it; she _had_ the world. But she didn't deserve the burden that came with it.

On the morning of the coronation, I went to her rooms (after receiving several suspicious looks from passing servants; it seemed that no one was thrilled with the idea of their beloved queen being in a romantic relationship with a _steward's_ daughter) only to find her done up in all her regalia, and trying not to cry.

"Oh, Andy!" I rushed towards her, and sat next to her on the sofa she perched on. I took her hand - her long nails had been painted gold and had tiny patterns of woodland animals painted on them in black. I honestly thought the crowd would be paying more attention to her gorgeous saffron dress and the long braids her hair had been knotted into, but works of art were works of art, and I still paid avid attention to the exquisite detail put into the designs. "You're so beautiful."

She wrenched her hands out of mine and covered her face. "What am I going to do, Morrigan?" she asked quietly. "I'm being crowned today, and I don't know how to run a country. I don't know if I _want_ to run a country. I'll probably make an even worse queen than Amarantha - Demetra will hate me - there'll be a target on all of our backs until the end of time - _what am I going to do_ -"

"You'll work it out," I said gently, taking her hand back in mine. Her eyelids, glittering with green makeup, blinked at me. I squeezed her hands between mine. "I'm here for you - I always will be, I promise. You don't have to do this alone." I enveloped her face with my hands and gave her a soft kiss. Her hands moved up my waist to rest on my shoulders. "None of us will be alone."

I drew back, and she moved her hands down to hold my wrists lightly. "You-" Her voice cracked, and she looked away - but not before I saw the swelling of tears in her eyes. "You always know exactly what to say."

"You always know what to hear," I replied. Too many people had misinterpreted my words for her to think it was all skill on my part. "And you especially know how to listen. You will make a wonderful queen, Andy."

"Will I?" She sounded criminally forlorn.

"Yes." I squeezed her hands again. "You're selfless, and you _do_ listen, Andy. Most aristocrats - and most of the people who'll be around you from here on out, I'll admit - don't give a shit about the people they used as carpets to walk into your throne room. But you do." I wiped away one of her tears before it could fall. "You'll listen to what's wrong, and you won't rest until you've solved it, and your people will love you for it." I kissed her again. " _I_ love you for it."

"Are they?" she asked. "My people?"

"By blood and sweat and tears, Andy," I assured her. "You deserve them, and they - most of them, at least - deserve you." I took a deep breath. "You are a blessing on this earth, Andy; never forget that."

"Stand beside me," she blurted out.

I couldn't quite believe what I'd heard. "What?"

"Stand beside me," she said again, lifting her head. Her chin wobbled. "On the dais."

"Andy. . ." I whispered. "You know I can't do that. I'm just a steward's daughter, and the nobles have got no love for you just yet as it is. You need to curry favour with them before you start pissing them off. Despite how fun it is." I grinned.

She shook her head, but she was smiling too. "Listen to you, Morrigan. You're a politician yourself." Her voice strengthened. "Alright. But can you at least stand next to the dais, so I know you're there? I need you to help me get through this." She brought my hands up to her heart and looked me in the eye. "I _need_ you, Mor."

"I'll be there," I found myself saying. "I promise."

 **.~*~.~*~.~*~.**

Andromache's coronation passed quickly - too quickly, considering the gruesome things that came after it.

Namely, the execution of those who'd been allowed to break the laws during Amarantha's reign.

Andromache was the one who had to sign the order for the arrest and subsequent trial and conviction of Lord Springton, Tamlin's father. The trial was swift and damning - Rhys and Azriel had taken extra care to compose the most incriminating and outrageous of the crimes he'd used his stolen title to get away with. I didn't feel so much as a lick of guilt when the jury took all but five minutes to decide on their verdict.

I had no doubt there were people who would be aghast that the new promised leaders of Prythian would start their reign with something so bloody as a public execution by beheading. But. . . I couldn't, decently, bring myself to regret the occurrence.

Rhys didn't attend the execution as a part of the group of nobles and advisors we made. I scanned the crowd for him before it happened, and when I made out his raven head, it was bent down to listen to a bronze one saying something in his ear. I swallowed a fond but faintly bitter smile. Of course Feyre couldn't be a part of the group we made (not until she married Rhysand and officially became a 'Lady', at least - a celebration I was _certain_ was on the horizon) so instead of letting her go through it alone, my cousin had presumably given up his front row seat to watch with the masses.

Because it would be hard for Feyre. She hated Springton, but she knew him, and I'd known her well enough during her years as a huntress to understand that she hated death of all kinds, whether it was directly brought about by her actions or not. She'd hated hunting because of it.

Rhys grabbed her hand when the executioner raised his axe, but Feyre didn't budge her gaze from the blade. I tore my own eyes away from them in time to see the weapon shear through Springton's neck, and blood soaked the stone.

I wish I could say I didn't feel satisfaction, but I did. I hated him too much not to.

As the general public made to leave the square, I caught sight of a blond head amidst the crush, and paused to observe.

Tamlin no longer wore the finery I'd always loathed but had grown accustomed to seeing him in; instead he wore something resembling the uniform Feyre had worn in her brief stint as a royal archer. Next to him stood a ginger haired man I assumed must be Lucien, but they didn't touch, and the latter's body language suggested he was trying to shy away from his former lord.

They stood there for a few moments, staring at the headless corpse, then walked out of the square. Together, but apart.

I never found out what happened to Feyre's former fiancé after that. He just disappeared. I suspected Feyre knew what had happened, but she never divulged it, and I didn't cared enough to find out.

Rhys didn't show up around the castle that night, and when I asked Cassian where he was he just gave me a very droll look with no answer. I'd flipped him off for his lack of usefulness, but I understood the message: It was obvious where Rhys was. He was still with Feyre.

The atmosphere around the place had been peculiarly sombre since we won. I hoped it would get better soon. We _deserved_ for it to get better soon.

Tomorrow, Rhys would leave for the manor again, and Feyre would have the chance to go back to Velaris or stay with him or do whatever she wished. The world was hers in a way so much more freeing than the way it was Andromache's.

Tomorrow, Azriel would take up the position of Spymaster. Cassian would become General. I would become. . . I didn't know.

Tomorrow, Andromache would begin her duties as queen.

Whatever happened, I would stay with her. I swore it that night as we embraced. I would stay with her, and help raise Demetra, and try to be the ray of light we all needed in this torn and desperate world.

A new age started tomorrow. Time ticked inexorably on; there was nothing we could do to stop it. Whatever happened, the way Prythian was tomorrow would be fundamentally different to the way it was yesterday.

I could only hope we'd done enough to make the changes good ones.


End file.
